


The Knight and The Gladiator Part 3

by EbonyAura



Series: The Adventures of the Knight and the Gladiator [3]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Confusion, Crack, Death Threats, Dimension Travel, Domestic fighting, First Love, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical Examination, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mpreg, Panic, Past Character Death, Why won't anyone get tlk optimus ice cream?!, continuity crossover, mentions of a gladiator's code of honor (if they ever had one), mentions of a knight's code of honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyAura/pseuds/EbonyAura
Summary: There's nothing like ending the week with the doctor of doom and a check-up.It WAS going well, but then the scanner had to pick up something unusual.Optimus has officially realized no one will give him a break in either universe he resides in.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Series: The Adventures of the Knight and the Gladiator [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665187
Comments: 11
Kudos: 85





	1. Reminiscing on the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear, I wrote another part.
> 
> It was supposed to be a short, sweet, crack-filled prequel to the other parts... Yeah I don't know what happened.
> 
> Anyway here's part 3 to the Continuity Crossover Story I wrote for MegOp week earlier this year. I suggest reading the first work of this series, "The Knight and The Gladiator" and the second work "The Knight and the Gladiator Part 2" before reading this, cause otherwise this one will make zero sense.
> 
> Warnings: This story flips back in time for a bit (those parts are marked accordingly). There's some Megatron abuse (don't worry he deserves it). There's a brief medical scare. There's an ugly emotional fight. And there's a fluffy ending.
> 
> I don't own the characters or their universes. I just like playing with them. Enjoy the mess.

The nearest star sat on the rim of the horizon, just beginning to set. It cast that side of the sky into a light shade of red, evening out into violet over the settlement, and fell into a darkening blue on the far side.

Near the middle of the settlement stood its medical clinic, recently completed in construction and finally in working order, much to an old medic’s great relief. Working from the Nemesis was both unnerving and exhausting, no matter much he’d done it. Ratchet was oblivious to the setting star as he worked, cleaning examination equipment in the front rooms after having done the same with the operating tools in the surgical ward. It was busy work, and a bit mundane without any patients in the clinic for overnight care. Not that he was complaining. It marked the end of a dark age of war, and hopefully a new beginning of peace.

Of course, there were still the frustrations that came in his line of work without the aid of war. Patients that forgot, or altogether skipped their scheduled medical appointments, for example. There was one specific mech whom he’d been expecting all day and had yet to show up, which was odd considering his usual punctuality. Not to mention the completion of most of the complexes should’ve left his patients with time to spare, which should give them all the more reason _not_ to forget their routine maintenance.

Well, he’d give those who still forgot an audio-full the next time he was out and about. And if that didn’t work, he always kept a spare wrench in his subspace. Those usually knocked some sense into the veterans he treated, both originating in, and not originating in this universe.

Sometimes when Hound was nice enough to make habitat-calls and check them in privacy, they got away with it. But the mech he’d been waiting on all day had healing injuries he needed to check up on.

He paused for a moment as he polished one of the full-frame scanners in the examination room, his aged optics scanning over the tool before sliding over to the counter. They took stock of what was present in what place, recalling the specific order in which he’d placed them. Finding one thing suddenly out of place, Ratchet let out an aggravated sigh.

“Knockout!” He shouted to the doorway, knowing the ex-Decepticon would hear him from wherever he might be in the clinic. “Where is the spark scanner for this room?! I told you to put it back in here three hours ago!!”

A haughty huff floated from the hallway outside.

“‘Knockout where’s this?’ ‘Knockout where’s that?’ Knockout, Knockout, Knockout!” Came the mocking penetration of the other medic’s normally charming purr. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you for once to ask _nicely_ about these things, you old rust bucket!”

Ratchet slapped a servo over his faceplates and prayed to Primus for patience. The ex-Decepticon was very easy to rile up when evening came around, always anxious to get off shift and rebuff his finish.

“ _Well,_ if Hound wasn’t out doing habitat-calls, I would’ve asked him instead. And perhaps I might’ve done it nicely. But seeing as he hasn’t been here since this morning, and you were the one to borrow it after _breaking_ another, I believe I can ask in whatever way I choose. So _where the frag_ is it?!”

Knockout let out a dramatic groan from the hallway.

“For the last time, that bumbling idiot _Bulkhead_ broke the scanner, not me! Yell at _him_ the next time he’s around!”

He whined, but Ratchet heard his shuffling footsteps as he passed the doorway and trudged down to the other end of the hall.

As they went, Ratchet was also alerted to the sound of the front entrance opening and closing. Recycling his optics, he walked towards the door, wondering if it was Hound returning from his habitat-calls on the mecha from the other universe. Sure enough, as he leaned out the doorway, the burly green technician with a medical kit in servo was turning into the hallway from the waiting area. Not a second later, he was followed by a taller mech, whom made the medic blink in surprise.

“Hey doc, I’m back.”

Hound greeted with a small wave. Ratchet stepped fully out into the hallway.

“Hello Hound.” He replied with a nod, his optics bouncing from the technician to the leader behind him but not yet commenting on it. “I assume your house-calls went well?”

“Yeah, almost everyone’s maintenance checks are up to date.” His lip plates wisped around his bullet cigar. He then turned an optic on the mech who accompanied him and pointed with a sideways grin. “Also found your missing appointment. Boss was workin’ himself into the ground again.”

Optimus looked both uncomfortable and slightly chagrined to be the source of the medics’ scrutiny and focused his attention on what must’ve been an interesting spot on the far wall. Ratchet almost smirked.

“Seems to be a common theme among Primes. Thank you, Hound.”

“Yep.” The green mech good-naturedly waved off the gratitude. “What’s Knockout up to?”

The old medic rolled his optics before he could stop himself.

“Searching for the spark scanner he borrowed earlier. Or perhaps _sulking_ while he searches would be a better way to phrase it.”

Hound puffed in amusement, twisting the cigar between his lip plates as he began to amble away.

“You’re too hard on him doc,” he admonished. “guess I’ll go help him before he throws a temper tantrum.”

Ratchet growled as he walked towards the first examination rooms.

“ _Why_ does everyone _insist_ on calling me _doc_?!”

He vented, slapping a servo over his faceplates again to collect his irritation before it ran off on him. After a moment, Ratchet let the servo fall to his side, and he looked up at the flame-decaled Prime who now looked uncomfortable and physically weary. His rusty knee joints sympathized with the expression.

“Well, come on then,” he jerked his helm towards the examination room behind him. “Let’s get this over with so _you_ can return to your hab complex and recharge, _not_ work.”

The medic turned on a heel walked back into the room, moving over to the full-frame scanner he’d just cleaned and pulling it from the counter. Its functions began to online as he heard the peds of the leader behind him, shuffling from the door to the medical berth in the center of the room.

“… I’m sorry I missed my appointment.”

Ratchet tilted his helm in his patient’s direction as he spoke, his normally resonate and familiar baritone retreating into something between guilt, wariness and exhaustion. He couldn’t fault Optimus for the guilt or the wariness, he knew by now whom his presence reminded the Prime of. He’d heard the events from the other Bumblebee, however briefly they were described before the SIC couldn’t bear to talk about it anymore. It couldn’t be helped, the leader always insisted, but it affected him more than Ratchet would ever know. At that, he knew he held his own share of culpability.

Now, the _exhaustion_ , that was on this all-too-stubborn-and-stoic-acting mech.

“I must admit, I was surprised by your absence. You and your counterpart are most often the only ones who comply with our schedule.”

He replied evenly, if not with the slightest bit of inquiry as he walked over to the medical berth. Optimus situated himself on it tautly, his joints and struts most likely aching and stiff from physical exertion. The leader looked a bit guarded as well, which was a normal behavior among all refugees originating in the other universe despite their long-standing alliance.

“I’d thought I set a pending notification for it on my HUD.” The Prime answered, removing the longsword from its sheath on his back plating to lean it up against the side of the medical berth. “If the notification pinged at any point today, I do not recall it.”

Forgetfulness? Ratchet noted it in the processor file he now held for the flame-decaled mech.

“Well, perhaps if you did not ‘work yourself into the ground again’ as Hound so eloquently stated, your processor would not experience such lag in efficiency… Lie back and put your peds up on the berth. I’m doing a full-frame scan.”

He scolded irritably. Wordlessly, Optimus followed his command, and the old medic let him move at his own pace. When the Prime settled, he moved in, activating the scanner and holding it over his patient’s peds before moving it upwards.

“Which by the way,” he continued, pointing his free servo at those electric blue optics. “I do not approve of. Such strenuous activity on your frame after the injuries you sustained in the insecticons’ attack could agitate the welds and cause infection.”

As he spoke, Optimus’s servo absently brushed over the crisscrossed welds which had been recently buffed by the ex-Decepticon medic. An absent gesture, Ratchet knew, and he eyed the faint welds with a practiced optic as he drew the scanner up and over his patient’s leg struts.

“It has been over six months since the attack. The punctures have healed—”

“Those were _impalements_ , Optimus. They required an energon transfusion, and in _my_ professional opinion, were far too deep to be considered punctures. Furthermore, _I’ll_ be the judge of their recovery. Have they caused you any pain or irritation since your last appointment?”

The flame-decaled mech silently retreated in the wake of Ratchet’s declaration. He shook his helm against the berth.

“No.”

“Any fluctuations of internal temperature regulation?” He pushed on with regular examination questions, moving up further scan over the pelvic structure and lower abdominal region. “Deviations in the transformation sequence? Changes in energon intake?”

Optimus shook his helm again.

“None that I am aware of… But Megatron thinks otherwise.”

Ratchet paused, looking up at the leader from the other universe with a raised optical brow.

“Oh?”

This time Optimus nodded, once again picking what must be an interesting spot on the wall to stare at.

“He insists that my energon intake has increased and has been so for the past two weeks. I’ve inferred he’s doing so to get on my nerves and stoke his own amusement.”

A similar irritability to his own rose in the depths of his voice along with his tucked field. Ratchet noted what he said in the processor file before continuing to slide the scanner upwards.

“It’s a possibility. Primus knows he’s stooped to similar lows for entertainment.” Ratchet quipped, however the snap in it fell away quickly. “But I doubt he would take up that behavior with you of all mecha, and now of all times. You’re his partner, after all, and soon to be conjunx endura if you two fall any harder for each other.”

Optimus’s attention whipped back to the medic and his optics cycled wide before the usually stoic mech averted his optics in embarrassment.

“… Yes, perhaps you’re right.”

He mumbled in response. Ratchet’s intake curled up into a knowing grin, and he brushed his field against his patient with a bit of the compassion he’d earned from his eons as a medic.

“Oh don’t be shy now, Optimus. I’m old, even for a Cybertronian. I’ve seen enough scrap to know a thing or two about compatibility between bots. And Megatron’s never been good about hiding something he’s proud of. In this case, courting you, which is usually one of the first things he’ll brag about if given the chance.”

Ratchet couldn’t help but note how the leader’s optics focused even harder on the floor. Heat began to shimmer from the small vents in his faceplates, and Ratchet’s grin grew. But he left it alone and began to analyze the results coming in from the frame scan. Optimus was uncomfortable already and it was better not to tease about such a personal matter.

A few kliks passed in quiet before the old medic was surprised by the Prime.

“Do you… Do you truly believe Megatron and I are compatible?”

He halted, looking back at the leader. Optimus absolutely refused to meet his optics. It was almost humorous. In spite of his strength, resilience, respectability and stoic demeanor Optimus managed to remind him of a youngling. Curious, a little desperate for stability on what was clearly unsteady ground, and hopeful. Ever so hopeful. Ratchet grinned again.

“Now that I think about it,” he began calmly, turning back to his task and carefully avoiding a glimpse at his patient’s face. “you and Megatron have held a high degree of compatibility since you first arrived.”

As he shifted to scan his patient’s lower chest cavity, he felt the precise moment those familiar blue optics fell back on him. 

“You did, after all, leave a rather striking first impression.”

*Once Upon A Previous Time Stamp*

The medic wasn’t exactly sure which unsettled him more: the urgent beeping of the console at Jasper’s midnight hour, or the name that spewed from Fowler’s mouth when he appeared on screen.

“ _Ratchet!!_ What the hell is this I hear about Prime doing the tango with Texas law enforcement?! Is there some new relic they’re holding onto that I don’t know about?! And since when did _Prime_ get a _makeover?!”_

Closer to a circuit trip than he would’ve liked to admit, Ratchet recycled his optics once, then twice, and was sure to run that statement through his processing threads one more time to be sure he’d heard it right. Usually it was Optimus’ title that came to be their greeting from the agent. The fact that he’d immediately resorted to the team’s second commanding officer was both odd and alarming, taking into consideration the recent events revolving around Nemesis Prime. Everything checked out, and his optics slid across the room towards the team’s leader and scout, who projected similarly baffled expressions back. The medic turned around and raised an optical brow at the human.

“I… don’t know what you mean, Agent Fowler. Optimus is right here and has been here since returning from patrol five hours ago. And he has not changed his appearance in any way.”

The human’s aggravated facial features seemed to darken with exasperation, and he raised the cellular device in his hand to gesture violently with it.

“Well, I just got a call from the Pentagon that Prime decided to get himself some blue fire decals and is on the run from our boys over in cowboy country!”

Ratchet had thought he’d heard loads of scrap from the human before this, but this was just bizarre. That same processing thread was still threatening to short circuit on him, and he was silently thankful when he heard Optimus step up to the monitor next to him. The result was immediate. Agent Fowler’s dark expression sputtered into something resembling shock and confusion.

“Prime! What the hell is-?!”

He paused, giving the Autobot leader and the medic a moment to exchange lost expressions before the agent slapped his hand over his face.

“Curse my star-spangled shorts, is this another Nemesis situation?!”

Ignoring the blatant fact that Agent Fowler had first called for his attention and then completely ignored his statements, the team’s medic glanced back over at the Prime.

“It can’t be the Decepticons. None of their signals have been recorded in the state of Texas for the past twenty-four hours. And we’d thought after Silas’s death, MECH would shut down their operations. It can’t be possible that they’ve built another prototype so quickly.”

Optimus nodded in agreement, his optics dimming slightly in thought.

“Nor does it seem likely they would have enough time to coordinate another attack. But with numerous MECH agents M.I.A. we cannot dismiss the possibility.”

On the monitor, Fowler threw up his hands.

“There aren’t any bases in a fifty mile radius of this thing’s location! So unless MECH’s decided they want to wrangle cows for a living, we have no idea what their new objective is!”

Coming to a final conclusion of the situation, Optimus stood a little bit straighter, his optics flicking from Fowler to Ratchet and Bumblebee as he spoke.

“Which is what makes it all the more imperative to gain control of the situation and find out. Bumblebee, wake the others; Agent Fowler, please relay to Ratchet the coordinates you received of this prototype’s location. We will investigate immediately.”

*Seven Minutes Later*

They stepped out of the ground bridge into open field covered by night, not far from what looked to be an old, ramshackle farmhouse standing next to an equally rickety barn and silo. Not far from the field, an open highway stretched far into the east and west. Scanning the vicinity for human activity, Optimus waited until he was sure it was negative before silently gesturing the others to take shelter behind the buildings and await further orders. He stepped up behind the silo, raising two digits to his audial and tipping his helm slightly left to have a visual of the west side of the road.

“Ratchet, do you have an update on the prototype’s location?”

From the other end of the link, he heard the monitor’s faint beeping for a moment until Ratchet responded.

_“It’s headed eastbound on the highway towards your location at an approximate speed of one-hundred miles an hour. You should hear it approaching any second now.”_

As the medic finished speaking, Arcee twisted in her position beside Bulkhead behind the farmhouse. Her voice rang out over the link.

_“Incoming vehicle headed eastbound at high speeds. It… resembles your alt-mode, Optimus.”_

The roar of a powerful engine reached his audials. Sending out the signal for radio silence, he craned his helm just a bit further to get a visual of it, noting the similar semi formatting, but the stark difference in colors. Whereas his paint was a primary transition between red and blue, this vehicle’s colors seemed resemble a fiery pattern, alternating in a unique twist of red and blue flames over the siding and rear wheel rims. The team tensed as it approached, hearing the echo of police sirens far off in the distance behind it. They waited, ready to leap out and overtake it.

That’s when it hit the brakes, sliding across the pavement until it reached the driveway of the farmhouse. Without another moment’s warning, the semi transformed, parts folding and shifting upward to form a mech that dived off the road and towards the other side of the buildings. Team Prime froze, torn between engaging the clearly-more-sentient-than-a-MECH-prototype bot and looking to their leader for orders.

But Optimus would not have been able to give any, unable to react as the strange bot fell before him and he received a good look at his actual appearance. He looked alike to that of a Cybertronian knight from the ancient tales he used to read in the Iacon Hall of Records. The metal that shaped him was split into many more parts, formed in curves and angles that were related to his own. His chest rounded out wider than his, and his paint job was blue and silver more than anything else, but the audial fins topping his helm were unmistakable. The Prime’s optics widened as the strange mech scrambled to his peds with overworked vents, looking like he was about to duck behind the silo when he noticed there were other bots already there.

About to have risen to his full height, which would’ve matched his look-a-like, the strange mech jerked back and stepped into a stiff crouch. Something near a chill creeped up the Prime’s spinal strut when he came face-to-face with eerily paralleled, widened blue optics positioned between a battle mask and a helm crest.

“What the-?! Who are you?!”

He sputtered, his EM field madly whipping out in confusion and panic, and everyone’s tanks dropped at the sound of his voice. It was _exactly_ like Optimus’s. His team’s EM fields recoiled in shock, and they stared at the both of them. A small processing thread in the back of his mind wondered if this was some kind of joke.

_“Somebody talk to me!! What is happening?!”_

Ratchet’s voice in his audial brought him back to the present, and Optimus shook himself out of his stupor to narrow his optics at the new mech.

“I am Optimus Prime. Identify yourself, stranger.”

The new mech flinched as he spoke, his EM field flaring once more as if in reaction to _his_ voice. He shook his helm, his optics also narrowing above his battle mask.

“That is a _lie! I_ am Optimus Prime! Who are you?!”

Optimus watched the new mech reach for his shoulder, experience telling him that his most likely intent was to draw some kind of weapon. He tensed again, ready to shift his servo into a blaster, when the sound of screeching sirens pounded their audials.

_“Optimus! You’ve got a squadron of law enforcement vehicles less than a klik from your position! If you’re listening, find cover!”_

He watched as the new mech froze once again, the shade of his optics lighting up in panic. They met each other’s gaze for a few nanoseconds before the new mech dropped back into alt-mode, pulling up by his peds behind the silo. Disengaging his engine and shutting off his lights, his terrified EM field lashed out at the Prime warningly, as if to say: “You make one wrong move against me, and I will cut off both your legs.”

Well, it seemed that he at least knew better than to engage them in front of humans.

The team pinged his link urgently for orders, and Optimus quieted them all with another commanding signal of radio silence. He could practically feel their begrudged moods as they settled to wait until the coast was clear. Flashing lights lit up the immediate area, and Optimus watched out of the corner of his optic as the squadron sped past the farmhouse at high speeds. He couldn’t help noticing that the vehicle next to his peds trembled a bit as they passed.

Sirens slowly died down in volume until they faded completely, but the bot at Optimus’s peds did not move from his position until a full klik passed in silence. The team spent a few nanoseconds staring at the semi, as if waiting for him to bite their leader’s peds before looking back up at the Prime. Bulkhead’s voice was the first to sound out over the link.

_“Uh… Should we do something about him? Knock him out or arrest him?”_

Bumblebee shifted where he was pressed against the barn, his door wings rising up on his back.

_“There’s gotta be something wrong with him if he thinks he’s Optimus!”_

Leaning forward from where she’d twisted to see the highway, Arcee looked back at her teammates.

_“He was under pursuit by human law enforcement, Optimus, he must’ve engaged them somehow. We should take him into custody before he decides to engage us.”_

_“Who the frag is HE?! Is it a sentient mech?!”_

Ratchet shouted into the link from base, confused out of his processor and ready to give the team an audial-full of his next lecture about keeping him updated. Optimus would’ve responded, but he was caught off-guard when the cool tip of a blade suddenly touched his neck cables. The semi at his peds had rolled backwards, withdrawing his roiling field out of the Prime’s reach when he was distracted by his team and had transformed back into root mode without a sound. Now, the Autobot leader knew the weapon behind his shoulder must’ve been the elegant sword that was about to spear his head. Boggled by such a feat, Optimus could only stare at his outlandish look-a-like as the rest of the team leapt up and pointed their blasters at him.

“Drop your weapon, mech!”

Arcee growled. The new mech did not even blink in her direction, his blue optics burning as he glared at the Prime.

“I have had enough of lies. _Who are you?_ I will _not_ ask again.”

This time his voice was collected, if not an ominous snarl. Slowly, without making sudden movements, the Prime raised his servos in a gesture of peace.

“I believe you may be confused, stranger,” he began cautiously, watching the mech’s optics flash angrily, “I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobot faction from the planet Cybertron. I have been in command for four million years since our planet’s fall, and we’ve sought to revive it since. Where have you come from?”

The other mech seemed taken off-guard for a moment, shuttering his optics in confusion.

“Revive it?” he began, his sword wavering where it pointed. “Cybertron has already been revived over Earth’s atmosphere! Have you not looked in the—”

As he spoke, he glanced up and gestured as he did, but his voice cut off, and his servo fell to his side as he observed the clear night sky. Optimus blinked and looked up with him, not surprised to see nothing resembling Cybertron above them.

_“Optimus, this mech is insane. Permission to open fire?”_

Their team’s femme urged quickly, optics narrowing as she looked between them. He glanced at her from the corner of his optics.

_“Hold fire, Arcee.”_

He responded, turning back to the mech whose expression became more anxious by the nanosecond.

“This—This is not… This planet _is_ Earth, correct? The one sheltering Unicron in its core?”

The new mech asked, glancing back at the Prime in something near desperation. Optimus’s optics widened and the team went rigid. He slowly nodded.

“Yes, it is… How do you know of Unicron’s existence in Earth’s core?”

He pressed, his digits twitching where they were raised. As far as any of them had known, only the Autobots and Decepticons on Earth knew of Unicron. The word of his existence had not been spread to the galaxy, had it? The new mech’s raised arm went taunt for a brief moment behind the sword, and he shuttered his optics at him.

“All surviving bots were alerted to his existence when his horns raised from the surface.”

He paused, glancing up at the sky again.

“But there are none here, and the fragments are not up there either… And I know of all the Cybertronians currently on Earth, yet I do not know any of you. What is—wait a klik, you said you lead the Autobot faction. You are still at war with the Decepticons?”

What did he mean by _still?_ The Prime nodded once more.

“… Yes. Are you allied with either faction?”

The strange mech’s faceplates flashed with differing reactions, and he absently pressed the tip of the sword close enough to scratch the glass on Optimus’s chest plate.

“Not technically, no. I _was_ leader of the—”

At that moment, two events unfolded simultaneously.

First, Ratchet’s voice returned over the commlink to shout: _“Optimus, you have company! And Megatron’s at the helm!”_

Second, the roar of flight engines in the air caused his team to jerk their blasters towards the field where the leader of the Decepticons transformed and landed with a crash, followed by a squadron of vehicons. A venomous, prideful smirk curled on his faceplate.

If he lacked any of the serene grace given to him by the Matrix, this is the part where he would’ve sighed, slapped his faceplates and grumbled out, “You’ve got to be fraggin’ kidding me.” But as the Prime, he only shifted his gaze towards the Decepticons approaching. The new mech’s blade wavered again and his optics widened as he watched the vehicons approach and train their weapons on all of them. The Decepticon leader raised an optical brow at his enemy under another’s blade before laughing.

“Well Optimus, I see you’ve gotten yourself into quite the predicament. I’m disappointed you’d let someone other than myself force you into surrender.”

He narrowed his optics at the taunt. The new mech blanched.

“Megatron.”

“ _Megatron?!_ ”

They both responded at once, his tone painted in resentment, and his look-a-like’s tainted by shock and horror. Optimus and Megatron turned their attention to him, the Prime tilting his helm at the reaction. Megatron, on the other hand, lost his prideful smirk, after a moment openly gaping as if he’d only just noticed the new mech that looked and sounded so much like Optimus Prime for the first time. Eventually, he pointed an accusing digit.

“… Who in the pits of Kaon are you?”

His look-a-like stared at Megatron, then at Optimus, and then back at Megatron. His helm swung back and forth like that of a malfunctioning drone, blue optics blazing so brightly with distressed emotions he could feel it from where he stood. The mech’s faceplates fell, something like realization flashing over them, and he backed away from both faction leaders. His sword slipped from his digits and clattered to the ground. They all watched as he wavered where he stood, shaking his helm as he spoke faintly.

“I do not belong here.”

*Two Hours and Twenty-Six Minutes Later*

  
If Ratchet had thought that Fowler’s call was odd, then he was in for quite the surprise about two hours later.

When he finally received a proper response from his team, asking him to bridge them back to base, he stood at the ready with a wrench in servo to clock the first bot that came through. The wrench soon fell from his digits when Optimus stepped through, followed by a mech that both fit Fowler’s description of the prototype, and would’ve most likely been classified by Miko as the Prime’s “badass twin.” He would’ve picked it back up to save himself some dignity, if it hadn’t been Megatron that stepped through next, followed lastly by the wary optics of his team. He stared at them all, and they all glanced at each other in silence. Ratchet huffed, pinching the nasal bridge of his faceplates, and shut down the bridge.

“First of all, what the frag is _he_ doing here?!”

He gestured unceremoniously to Megatron, who crossed his arms over his broad chest plates and watched the medic with an unamused, raised brow. Optimus finally spoke, meeting Ratchet’s optics.

“We have negotiated another temporary ceasefire in order to resolve my counterpart’s predicament.”

Ratchet raised an optical brow.

“Your… counterpart.”

Optimus nodded, gesturing to the puzzling mech on his left whose optics stared back at him dimly and whose arms were folded tightly against him. It was a blatant show of resignation and uncertainty, which was a perplexing look on a bot who had a longsword sheathed over his shoulder. Ratchet scrutinized him carefully.

“Would _you_ mind elaborating on who you are, and why you’re here?”

The new mech’s gaze flicked to the others surrounding him, as if waiting for someone to stop him from speaking. Then, his arms dropped to his sides and he spoke.

“My name is Optimus Prime. I was also leader of the Autobots, but my war against the Decepticons has recently ended with Cybertron’s revival and attachment to Earth. I was on one of the fragments of my home planet earlier this cycle aiding other survivors in rebuilding habitat complexes, but fell into a portal resembling one of your…”

He trailed off, glancing over at the other Prime.

“You called it a ground bridge?”

Optimus nodded once, and his counterpart turned back to the medic.

“One of your ground bridges. I landed in the state of Texas near a local settlement and was discovered by humans. I was attempting to evade them when I discovered your team.”

Ratchet was about ninety-eight percent sure that the processing thread which had gone haywire earlier was finally short-circuiting. He stared at the mech for a good few kliks without any kind of response to give.

“We have concluded that he is from an alternate universe of some kind, and that the best course of action for the time being is to aid him in returning home and set our universes back into balance.”

All optics were now on Ratchet, and he was tempted to let his incredulity surface in the elegant response of silently staring right back. But he was never able to afford such luxurious loss of disposition, was he? Glancing back at _his_ Optimus, the medic waited until his processor rebooted, then sighed heavily and put a weary servo over his optics.

“Let me get this straight,” his servo gestured back to the other Prime as he spoke, “this is _another_ Optimus Prime, from _another_ universe, who has somehow managed to fall into a portal to _this_ universe. And now, you’ve called a _ceasefire_ , just to ask me to recreate that portal which somehow stretched _in_ _-between universes?!_ ”

Megatron chose that point to finally speak up, his voice oddly absent of wrath but ever-glazed by pride.

“You will have access to all Decepticon engineering technology aboard the Nemesis for this task. I will also prepare a mission return to Shockwave’s labs on Cybertron to seek out his blueprints and calculations for the construction of bridge portals.”

It was with an eerie slowness that Ratchet turned his helm towards the Decepticon, his expression going dark quickly and his EM field swirling around him dangerously.

“Oh yes, because that’ll make this task less impossible!” He snipped sarcastically and pointed a digit back at the warlord. “And for your information, none of this has yet to explain _why the frag you are in our base!!_ ”

Surprisingly, the warlord did not snap back or lose his composure. Instead he shifted his weight from one ped to the other, staring down the medic without a hitch.

“As I recall, Ratchet, ceasefires are usually improved by cooperation on both sides. I simply wanted to be here for the proposal of this new course of action for the time being, if not to also watch _you_ short circuit at the explanation.”

He finished with a small sharp smirk, earning him an unamused growl from the medic and five pairs of narrowed blue optics in his direction.

“Looks like you’ve yet to lose your knack for brutal honesty when we least expect it.”

Arcee commented lowly from beside Bulkhead and Bumblebee, rolling her optics as she did. Megatron looked over his shoulder in her direction, his smirk only widening.

“Oh rest assured, Arcee,” he replied calmly, but the edges of his tone curled like the flexing of talons. “you need not get used to it just yet. After all, our war is only on hold for the time being.”

The other occupants in the room immediately stiffened, their pointed gazes turning to glares.

“Megatron…” the Prime whom had fought the warlord for the past four million years scolded him in warning. “You will respect my team for the duration of this ceasefire.”

The warlord snorted, turning a dubious optic on his enemy.

“And why should I, Prime? The only modules of _respect_ I’ve ever received from your team are their mockery and attempts at assassination.”

The Prime’s lip plates thinned. He was about to step forward to address the reply when the other Optimus’s optics shifted over to him, his curved shoulder pauldrons glinting as they moved to follow suit.

“Pardon me. May I?”

He asked quietly, with an unhidden and unfamiliar growl to his voice even as he phrased it politely. Such a shift in his demeanor was jarring, one that the Autobot medic noticed, and was instantly wary of. The rest of Team Prime blinked in mild surprise, caught off guard by the odd tone, but their leader nodded once in consent. No matter what tone he took, he was still a Prime. He trusted the other would act accordingly with Megatron, despite their first meeting.

Optimus wasted no time then in approaching the silver mech, his expression mostly unreadable under his battle mask. But his optics blazed like a storm. Megatron’s smirk immediately fell to a line when he was confronted by the mech, crimson optics scrutinizing the flames that licked over his armor. In that moment, it might’ve been easy to compare him to such if that damnable trait of a Prime’s self-control hadn’t carried over between universes. Even his field was carefully drawn tight to his frame.

Their optics clashed, and the flaming mech’s servos pulled up into fists.

“Perhaps you require his appeal to be rearticulated.”

What happened next must’ve taken place in the span of nanoseconds. The Prime only had that much time to realize just how different his and his counterpart’s mannerisms actually were as the flame-decaled Optimus drew back a fist and struck Megatron in the face. Nearly knocked unconscious by the force of the punch, Megatron stumbled backwards with a loud grunt. Optimus followed him. The others scrambled out of the way, and when Megatron tried to flash the newcomer an astonished glare, he was violently backhanded.

This time, his peds were not able to hold his weight in balance, and his body spun before slamming front first onto the floor. Momentarily knocked into a daze by the intensity of the fall, Megatron could only rake his claws across the floor before he was taken by surprise a third time. A strong ped implanted itself into his back, keeping him firmly locked in the all too vulnerable position. Battle protocols were just starting to kick in when he felt the cool edge of a blade click against his neck armor, slowly dragging over it and leaving a light scrape.

_“Mech, what the frag are you doing?!”_

“Optimus, there is no need for hostility on this matter—!”

From behind them, the scout and the Prime spoke up at once, all the team’s fields now broken loose and swarming the room in shock and confusion. Megatron’s chest reverberated in a low, dangerous growl as he attempted to look over his shoulder and sneer at the flame-decaled Prime.

“What is the meaning of this, you mindless fool?!”

He spat. What answered him was a field lashing at him from above. It leeched out from underneath the mech’s ped. It seeped around him, surrounding him. The _fury_ within it was resounding, all-consuming, almost crazed. It brought his building rage to a screeching halt. Such a violent emotion, so familiar to himself, it was not so easily applicable to Optimus Prime. Even one from a different universe. The illumination in those nearly maniacal optics that accompanied it was suddenly disturbing enough to allow apprehension to creep up his spinal strut.

Overtop of the tyrannical warlord, Optimus leaned down to address him.

“Do you know why _I_ lead the remaining Cybertronians in my universe? Cybertronians who once identified as Autobots _and_ Decepticons?”

The baritone in his voice dipped so low it seemed to graze the floor. He was met with silence. Letting a moment pass for the question to sink itself into the silver mech’s processing threads, the flame-decaled Prime continued.

“In one of our final battles, I hacked _my_ Megatron’s helm into pieces. It split in half before I ripped what remained of it off his shoulders… In our last battle I kicked his frame through the wall of a spaceship, and let it burn in the plummet through Earth’s atmosphere.”

Behind them, the fields of the team pulled back, beginning to swirl with disgust and horror. Whispers and muttered curses fell from their intakes. The other Optimus did not hear them, nor did Megatron.

“I’ve grown tired of war,” he stated, pressing the side of his sword harder against Megatron’s neck armor and just pierced it. “But I killed your counterpart _twice_. Provoke me, and I will do the same to you.”

In defiance, the warlord growled again, attempting to push up against the ped that held him down.

“Is that a threat you—?!”

He was cut off when Optimus slammed his ped down even harder, knocking the air from his vents.

“Yes. It _is_ a threat.” The other Prime’s voice twisted into a wrathful snarl, and its volume reverberated throughout the room. “I am no stranger to the deceptive ways in which you work, Megatron. But I do not stand by and watch for anyone’s sake. _I take action_ … You made an agreement. Respect my counterpart’s appeals, hold up your end, and you may live to see your next battle.”

Then, as suddenly as he’d struck, he retreated. Megatron recycled his optics as the sword’s edge fell away from his neck and the ped was removed from his back.

Team Prime watched uneasily as the clearly-more-dangerous-than-previously-assumed newcomer stepped back from the warlord, his sword still hovering readily at his side. Ratchet and the Prime exchanged a glance as Megatron slowly drew his legs back under him, pushing himself off the floor. The Prime then turned to his counterpart, a disapproving glint to his optics.

“Your actions were unnecessary, Optimus. Is your oath as a Prime not to avoid violence when given the chance?”

The other Prime’s helm whipped back towards him, and he was met with a stone cold gaze.

“Pacifism leads to _more_ violence when it ignores the signs of tribulation. You may follow such a moral code if you see fit to, but I will not make that mistake again. I will follow my own code, and it will not allow me to watch others take advantage of bots who don’t deserve it.”

Steam rose from the smokestacks behind his shoulders and puffed from his olfactory vents. The two Primes stared each other down for a few long moments, and most of the other bots looked between them warily, waiting for one to speak, to make a move. 

That’s when a gruff chuckle floated into the air, startling even the Primes into breaking their gazes. The source of it was Megatron, whose laughter rose in volume as he took a few deep invents of air. There were scrapes running down his front, and a few more added to his faceplate from Optimus’s fist. His optics were shuttered as he laughed for a good klik, and every other bot in the room felt a chill zip down their spinal strut at the sound of it.

When it finally died off into the quiet, the Decepticon shook his helm absently, something between a genuine smile and a smirk now pulling at his intake.

“… You know Optimus,” He began, crimson optics looking over at the flame-decaled mech. For once, they held no hidden intention in their depths. “At first I’d thought you were a deranged slagger like me.”

Optimus leveled a flat glare at the warlord, his grip on his sword tightening as he became tempted to slug the aft in the face again. Megatron continued.

“But now I see that was an invalid assumption. You’re not unhinged. You’re _ruthless_. You hold a reputable and sensible code of honor. I admire that.”

Both Primes recycled their optics, completely taken off guard by the response, and by his changing demeanor. No one had ever said anything like that to him before, and he wasn’t sure if it was meant to be offensive. Confused glances were shared around the room as the flame-decaled mech’s helm tilted. Something was beginning to stir in those crimson optics. He saw it, but it wasn’t malice, nor was it deception. It was something neither Optimus of the other universe or the Prime of this universe could decipher in that moment. It disappeared as Megatron nodded his helm to the newcomer.

“I also hold a great deal of respect for any mech who can take me down so quickly, and then effectively threaten me. Only two other mecha in this universe have ever accomplished such a feat.”

Optimus’s expression, though guarded, was unstiffening. His sword fell a few feet lower. Whatever this was, it wasn’t retaliation. Megatron then turned to his own enemy, who was watching him curiously.

“Save your breath on your counterpart’s behalf, Prime. I’ll abide by our agreement for however long it will last.”

The Prime blinked, but he returned a nod.

“Very well.”

He complied, and the next few moments of silence rang awkwardly throughout the room. None of the others really had a clue what to do following such an odd series of events, and it left them staring at one another. The old Autobot medic could only stand a few more nanoseconds of it before he broke the silence with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest plates.

“Well, as inspiring and rightfully gratifying as this scene has been…” Ratchet quipped, casting a spiteful glance at the warlord, “if I’m going to build an inter-universal space bridge, I’m going to need some basic schematics and a report if this kind of bridge had any anomalous features I should be aware of.”

Turning towards the three leaders in the middle of the room, he looked up at the sword-bearing Prime.

“Would you mind enlightening me on more details of your arrival here, _Optimus_?”

*The Present Time Stamp*

“… To think a peaceful ending to both our troubles came about because you pummeled that fragger on the first day.”

Optimus couldn’t help the smile that crept over his face as the old medic reminisced on their initial meeting. It was a rough period of time, and was not as stable as he was now, but it marked the start of his people’s salvation. His salvation. It was enough to distract him from his exhaustion, his sore frame, his tanks that ached for a refuel.

This universe’s Ratchet was right. Who would’ve known that their future rested on Optimus punching a strange Megatron in the face?

“He deserved it.” The flame decaled mech responded after a klik, finally letting himself relax against the medical berth as the old medic ended the scan over his helm.

“That he did,” Ratchet agreed, waiting until the scanner beeped in completion before drawing it back to gage the rest of the results. “He was a _fragging aft_ before you showed up. But you two share something of a similar past. I think that and your morals are what changed his behavior and make you compatible.”

Optimus watched as the medic stepped back, and with a small grumble at his sore spinal strut he sat up on the berth to hear the results.

“Let’s see,” Ratchet’s optics were bright in concentration as he analyzed the frame functionality calculations shown on the scanner. “Everything looks to be in working order. Your protoform injuries from the impalements are almost completely healed. Processor efficiency looks to be a bit run-down.”

He leveled a pointed gaze at his patient, who nearly shrunk his shoulders at the familiar reprimand. Ratchet sighed wearily after a moment and continued through the results.

“That, and your energon dependence has increased by about 21%, but I think that’s to be expected considering how much energy you use without replenishing it with enough recharge.”

Optimus might’ve shrunk further as the old medic looked at him again.

“I’d tell you to take day or two off for the sake of your well-being,” Ratchet stated, pointing the scanner at him condescendingly. “but you’re no more willing to follow orders than _my_ Optimus. So go back to your hab complex, refuel, and recharge. At least try to take on less strenuous tasks for a week.”

Nodding in understanding, the leader swung his leg struts back over the berth.

“Thank you Ratchet.”

He replied, receiving a small grunt of acknowledgement as the medic idly scrolled through the rest of the results. Optimus reached for the sword leaned up against the side of the berth.

“… Huh.”


	2. Fearing the Future

His servo halted where it’d been reaching, digits just about to touch the handle of his weapon. Looking back up at Ratchet, Optimus found his gaze narrowed at the screen of the scanner and one of his optical brows raised in confusion. Experience with both his own medical officer and the old medic in front of him told him that any expression of sort that came with a maintenance exam was bad news. His joints locked involuntarily.

“Is something wrong?”

Ratchet looked up at him for a few nanoseconds before looking back down at the scanner.

“There appears to be a small conglomeration of matter in your upper abdominal cavity, just under your impalement markings.”

Optimus blinked, and he sat back up straight on the berth. Confusion dripped into his field and questions rose in his processor as he briefly glanced at the scanner in the medic’s servos.

“Do you believe it came from the injury?”

The medic gave no response at first, scrolling up and down on the scanner and staring hard at the results presented to him.

“… It’s not showing any signs of connection. An infection or a virus spread through open orifices would be easy to recognize, but the wounds have shown only positive signs of healing up until now. It doesn't seem to be affecting your frame’s functionality.”

Ratchet finally looked up at him once more.

“You’re _sure_ you haven’t felt any pain, discomfort, or unusual sensations in that area since your last appointment?” 

Optimus immediately shook his helm, looking just as lost as Ratchet felt. How had the medic missed this before? Was this even _there_ in any previous scans? He knew what an oncoming internal corruption looked like in the bots from his universe. With Hound’s assistance, he understood what it looked like in the bots from the other universe. This looked like neither. If anything it reminded him of a—

_Wait a klik_.

Ratchet ran through the notes of his patient’s file just as they both heard ped steps approaching from the hallway.

“Hey doc, hey boss.” Hound greeted the both of them, leaning against the door frame wearily and crossing his servos over his chest. “Knockout ran out on the search ten minutes ago; the bastard was getting real snappy. Found the spark scanner though. Where you want it?”

Optimus didn’t even spare a glance to his technician, his optics fixed uneasily on the old medic who turned towards the green mech after another long moment of staring at the full-frame scan results.

“Actually Hound, let me see that. And if you would please remain here for a few kliks. I need to check something.”

There was no way to tell where this was going when Ratchet’s behavior turned cryptic. Optimus felt the unease building, crawling up his spinal strut, creeping spindly digits into his spark. His anxiety was silently increasing by the nanosecond. Hound didn’t seem to notice either of their off-attitudes at first. He shrugged himself out of the doorway and placed the scanner into the old medic’s waiting servos. Ratchet turned back to the Prime.

“Optimus, if you could lie back one more time so I can take a spark scan?”

“Wait, spark scan?” Hound finally picked up on the gravity of the situation, taking the bullet cigar out from between his denta. “Somethin’ wrong with the boss, doc?”

“No, not at all!” Ratchet was very quick to reassure the other medically-trained bot, and another red flag immediately raised itself from Optimus’s anxiety. “Just a spark scan to confirm my notations on his file. Everything’s fine.”

It was a reassurance clearly pointed more towards the Prime, Hound caught wind of that real quick. It made him suspicious.

“Uh huh.”

The burly green mech replied skeptically, but did not waste another moment in stepping up to the other side of the medical berth. He patted his leader’s shoulder.

“Better do what he says, boss. Out of the two of us, he’s got more experience in diagnosin’ bots.”

Hound carefully pressed him backwards, but Optimus’s alarmed field broke loose. Before he knew what he was doing, he ripped his shoulder from the green mech’s grip. His optics were blazing as he sat up at attention and took hold of the edges of the berth in a crushing grip. He stared down his medical officer’s counterpart.

“ _Damn it Ratchet_ , do _not_ withhold information from me!! What do you think is happening?! Is it detrimental?!”

The old medic instantly backed off at the mech’s backlash, raising his servos in a gesture of peace, but his expression hardened.

“If I’m right, your current level of distress is what will be most detrimental to your frame. You need to calm down so I can—”

“What the frag is going on here?”

All three bots startled at the intruding growl, jerking towards the door. Just outside the frame stood Megatron, whose crimson optics met them all cautiously. Ratchet recycled his optics. How had he missed his oncoming presence? He must’ve been too distracted to hear the entrance open and close.

Optimus felt some of his immediate anxiety dissipate at the presence of his partner. He let go of a vent, offlining his optics and covering them with a servo. He exhaled again, attempting to regain some sense of dignity in front of the other mecha. Megatron’s gaze narrowed on his partner at the sound of his winded ventilations, and not a second more was wasted.

“Optimus? Are you alright?”

He asked, swiftly walking past the medics towards him and placing a clawed servo against the Prime’s other shoulder. Optimus’s anxiety dwindled further at the feel of the other’s EM field against him. Letting his servo fall from his optics, he looked towards the ex-warlord and nodded slowly.

“I’m fine… I’m fine.”

Repeating it did nothing to cement the idea in his processor. Reaching up, he grasped the servo on his shoulder to ground himself, releasing another winded ventilation. The ex-warlord let his calmer field wash over the other.

“… Not that we’re not overjoyed you’re here,” the old medic began gradually, and a bit sarcastically, eliciting the piercing crimson gaze of the silver mech. “But why the frag are you here?”

Megatron leveled a somewhat flat expression back.

“I was looking for Optimus in the west sector, and along the way I passed Knockout. He told me my partner was here. I walked into the clinic and the first thing I heard was him shouting.”

The flat expression switched to a venomous glare in the blink of an optic.

“Would you mind telling me why that is, _doctor_?”

His voice was calm, but frigid. It always chilled Ratchet to his core, and he had a feeling it always would. Nevertheless, he met his glare head on and decided it would be best to state the facts as they were.

“During the routine maintenance scan, I located a small conglomeration of matter in Optimus’s abdominal cavity.” He replied bluntly, watching Megatron’s optics flash and his frame stiffen. “It seems to have developed sometime after the previous appointment. I have a theory as to what it is, but to either prove or disprove it, I need to conduct a spark scan. In either case, I do not believe this is will cause any lasting harm to his health.”

“What do you think it is?”

Megatron asked after a moment, and all optics turned on the old medic. He sighed, meeting them all with a nonfluctuating gaze.

“Megatron, Optimus, I think it would be wisest to first confirm if my theory is correct. Please, just trust me on this. I don’t want to cause any unneeded grief if I’m wrong.”

At that point, Hound dropped his bullet cigar. It clattered loudly onto the floor and rolled by his peds. He stared at the old medic, finally catching onto what might be affecting his leader.

“Slag…” he cursed lowly, only tearing his gaze away after half a klik to stare at his leader with one of the most serious expressions that Prime had ever seen him wear.

“... Optimus, listen, this ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of. But he’s got a point. If we’re thinkin’ on the same wavelength here, then it’s better to know for sure than to jump to conclusions.”

The Prime stared back silently while the ex-warlord eyed him skeptically, his grip on his partner’s shoulder tightening in the slightest. He was of the opinion that it would be best to understand all possible outcomes before going into it. But with two medics pitted against them, there wasn’t much hope of winning this battle. Willing himself to find patience with the antics of medical bots, Megatron squeezed the other’s shoulder, asking for his attention.

“Optimus, are you alright with this?”

Bright blue optics swirling with strong emotion turned back to him, their guard wavering. He could see the fear within them, feel the anxiety that was usually so well hidden. This was no easy situation to be suddenly thrust into with so many unnamed and potentially dangerous possibilities. He wrapped his field tighter around the other, letting it bleed his confidence, comfort and determination. _I’m here_ , it said without voice, _I swear by Primus and Unicron, you do not face this alone._ It was enough for Optimus to steel himself for what may come, squeezing back the servo on his shoulder once more time. Then he spoke.

“Yes.”

At the consent, the old Autobot medic nodded and onlined the spark scanner. Optimus nearly flinched at the harsh beep it made to signal its operational status. Ratchet stepped forward slowly, his expression a bit kinder.

“The scan itself will not take long, but we’ll be able to attain the best results if you’re lying flat.”

He moved automatically, his leg struts swinging back onto the berth and his elbows propping underneath as he settled back against the flat surface. Megatron moved to the other side of the berth to stand out of the medic’s way. His claws moved to grasp his partner’s digits, and Optimus silently curled his servo in a tight grip, unwilling to let them go.

Ratchet began when they fell still, first holding it over the Prime’s chest plates to let it register his life force. It beeped again, and a sequence of calculations spilled out over its screen for the medic’s analyzation.

“Spark signature is steady. Power release is persistent.”

He then moved the scanner just a few digit-lengths downward, letting it hover over the area the full-frame scanner had found the unidentifiable mass.

It beeped for a third time, and a brand new set of calculations streamed over the screen.

“… _By the Allspark_.”

Ratchet swore after a moment, scrolling through the data in absolute shock. Optimus slammed his optics shut, forcing himself to stay still. Hound walked around the berth to peer over the old medic’s shoulder, a low whistle falling from his intake in amazement. The old medic glanced at the technician and then gestured at the screen.

“You’re seeing what I’m seeing, correct?”

Hound nodded, servo reaching up to take off his helmet and rub at the circuitry underneath in disbelief.

“You ain’t crazy yet, doc. I see it too.”

“Are you two _done_ with your _ambiguous behavior_?”

Megatron snarled in impatience. Optimus’s field lashed out in an anxious rage and he jolted back up again.

“What the frag is it?!”

The old medic opened his intake to speak, but he found the words to express what he saw just wouldn’t come. For the first time in a very, very long time he was speechless. Instead, to his patient and his partner’s bewilderment, he gave them a grin. Then he flipped the screen to let them see it.

Optimus instantly leaned forward to get a better look, his anxiety expecting it to be a ticking grenade or a scraplet chewing at his insides. Perhaps even some magical artifact Quintessa had somehow managed to leave inside him without any notice until now. He saw none of those. What he _did_ see was a miniscule blip of a light, perhaps no bigger than the diameter of his digits. Like a young star, it glowed bright white and was surrounded by a nebula of soft protoform and fluid. It took Optimus and Megatron no longer than a moment’s notice to realize exactly what it was.

“Well, congrats boss.” Hound was first to break the silence, and he too grinned at the pair. “Looks like you’re carryin’ a newspark.”

*Forty-Six Minutes Later*

Megatron, for the life of him, could not understand why Optimus was so _angry._

In his humble opinion, this had turned out to be a fraggin’ momentous day. One that should’ve ended in laughter, joyous tears, perhaps even celebration amongst their entire settlement.

But Optimus spent the last few moments of daylight in a shocked stupor, unable to process what he’d learned as the old Autobot medic and burly green technician concluded the appointment with a checkup on the newspark. They ultimately gave both Prime and newspark a clean bill of health, only letting him leave with orders to increase his daily energon intake by half a cube and _no more_ strenuous physical labor. That meant, as Ratchet so gracefully put it, _you’re taking the next fraggin’ week off or so help me I’ll get your counterpart to tie you to a berth!!_ Not that Megatron wouldn’t have done the same without the doctor’s back-up.

When Optimus finally did process the new information, it was somewhere along the way back to their now-shared hab complex. The nearest star had orbited out of sight, leaving in its wake a dark sky filled with glittering lights to guide them back. Megatron found them to be a beautiful sight. But then he’d glance over at his partner, remember that this being he would’ve _died_ for now nurtured new life, and he’d decide Optimus outshined them all.

But his field was pulled tightly against his frame, and he walked rigidly, not even sparing the silver mech a glance as they passed the other complexes. When he tried to reach out his own field to ask why, he was met with silence and a hot ire _roiling_ under the other’s armor. Megatron pulled away quickly and determined to not try to prod him again until they reached their complex.

The door slid open for them, and the flame-decaled Prime stepped in without word. He halted in the middle of their living space, staring vacantly at the short hallway which led to the berthroom. Megatron followed, flicking on the lights in the room as the door shut behind them. Hoping his partner was in something more of an agreeable mood, he turned back around.

“Optimus—”

He was allowed to say no more. Megatron only had a second to recognize a fist flying towards his face before it connected with a painful _thwack,_ knocking him into a daze that made him see stars behind his optics. As he came back to awareness, he both revered and lamented the fact that this Optimus Prime punched harder than his ex-enemy ever could.

Megatron shook his helm and recycled his optics. His vision focused to see his partner standing in front of him, his fists clenched, his entire frame tense and ready to strike again. Blue optics burned wildly, and his face was absolutely _livid_. The ex-warlord involuntarily took up a defensive stance.

So much for avoiding stress and strenuous activity.

“What the frag was that for?!”

He barked, for the second time that night shocked and confused. Blue optics narrowed at him.

“ _Six months_.”

The Prime’s voice was a hiss, his wrath so heavy that it was impossible for it to have exploded. So it imploded.

“We have only been courting _for six months._ That is not even the length of a full gestation period. By Unicron’s horns, we are not even _bonded._ ”

Crimson optics became sharp.

“Is _that_ your problem with this situation?! After millions of years of war, we create the first viable newspark of both our peoples, and you're angry that we’re not officially bonded?!”

“You are not even _close_ , Megatron.” Optimus replied, his field whipping out dangerously. “You want to know what my problem is?? Have you not considered how _fragile_ our alliance still is? How _none_ of my people have fully adjusted yet to living amongst yours, much less traversed half of this planet?! They’ve relied heavily on _me_ for guidance and protection since they stepped through that portal. They trusted me with their _lives_ , but now… _how_ am I supposed to repay that and lead them?!”

Megatron recycled his optics, still tense in his defensive position but taken off guard by the argument.

“… This does not have to change how you lead your people, Optimus.”

“Is that so?!” The Prime seethed back, his field wavering with the beginnings of grief. “Then tell me, what will happen if a large fight breaks out between our refugees?! What if scraplets invade the settlement and destroy the complexes? What if another insecticon swarm attacks the settlement without warning?! What will I do now that I’m in such a vulnerable condition?! I’ll have no choice but to _sit by_ and _watch_ as my people _scramble for their lives_!!”

Oh.

_Oh_.

The ex-warlord felt something sharp prick at his spark as realization set in.

So _that_ was the root of the problem. It was not about technicalities or blame… It was about betraying those he cared about. Giving up his oath of honor.

It was about straying from his code.

“That won’t happen, Optimus.” He responded, about to step forward before thinking better of the action. “I swore I would help you protect your people. We agreed on that before our courtship ever began, and I will stand by that agreement until our dying day. But carrying a newspark does not directly imply you have to sit by and watch tribulation take place. You can still lead them; it simply needs to be in a way that allows you to better preserve your health.”

“Half of my people were led by a _monster_!!” The Prime snapped, his voice finally rising in volume. “And that _monster_ left them so scarred that sometimes they only listen to brute force! They’ll question me if I can’t brandish a weapon! They’ll think I’m _deceiving_ their trust by refusing to raise my sword for the length of this gestation!”

The ex-warlord wasn’t even given a nanosecond to respond before Optimus barreled on, throwing his servos in the air and ripping them back down in violent, frenzied gestures.

“Don’t you see?! I can’t _afford_ to be in such a vulnerable position, Megatron!!” He was shouting now. His voice had risen to a pitch the silver mech hadn’t thought any Prime could accomplish. “The oaths you’ve sworn in my favor will not matter if my people decide I’m nothing but another Megatron’s carrying sex drone!!”

Optimus’s frame was shaking where it stood. The rage emanating off it was beginning to give way, crumbling under the weight of a panicked hysteria. The words that poured from his intake both angered and scared the silver mech. He needed to stop him. This was just too much stress for him bear in his condition. This was too much for the both of them.

“ _Six months Megatron!_ We took this relationship too fast in far too short an amount of time! We should’ve _known_ better, but we ignored the consequences like fools! Primus, I should’ve _never_ let you court me! What are we supposed to do with a newspark?! _I_ don’t know how to take care of one!! _I don’t know what to do—!!”_

“ _Stop!!_ ” Megatron roared, leaping forward and reaching out to trap the Prime’s arms in his grip. “Optimus, _stop!!_ ”

The flame decaled mech froze, his armor clinking as he continued to shake. His vents came in short pants. Like a lightning strike, the madness that had suddenly overcome his optics dissipated in a jolt. Then came the rain as they brimmed with coolant.

It was the first time Megatron had ever seen the mech cry.

He exhaled shakily, his helm falling under the weight of the Prime’s crippling words. They barbed his spark, wrapped around it, squeezed, and pierced it in places he did not know could hurt. It took a lot of strength to remain standing.

“I can stand to hear you say what you will about our courtship,” he began after a few kliks of silence. “The speed at which it escalated, the idiocy of our antics, the consequences which have ensued and may yet come… But if you _regret_ it because we managed to create a _newspark_ out of it, then I don’t believe this arrangement between us will continue to work.”

He felt the other’s field flare in immediate pain.

“… What?”

Optimus rasped. Megatron forced himself to look up, meeting his partner’s upset optics as he released his arms.

“If this has truly caused such a rift between us… if you think our foolishness has destroyed this courtship, all you have to do is tell me. I know this was my fault. I hold a great deal more experience in courtships than you, and yet I forgot to be cautious when you needed it most… I understand now that I’ve threatened your oath to your code, and that to me is unforgiveable.”

The silver mech exhaled again, his chest plates shuddering.

“I will always retain loyalty to your leadership, Optimus. And I love you… I don’t think I can ever stop loving you, no matter where you go or what you do. I love you enough that all which matters to me is your contentment. If this development can no longer allow you to receive that from me, you need only say the word, and I will end this courtship. I will never impede on your life, and by extension your newspark’s life, again.”

As he finished, he took a step back, pulling himself away from his partner. The Prime stared at him, his optics awash in shock and turmoil as the brimming coolant spilt onto his face.

“… _No_.” He whispered at last. “ _Please_ don’t… I’m sorry, I…”

His entire frame shivered hard, and the Prime wrapped his arms around his middle, as if to either guard himself from a chill or shrink away from some undefeatable enemy. Megatron fought with himself on whether or not to approach, to comfort the other as some deep instinct in his coding demanded he do. He fought it as hard as he wanted to succumb to it. Optimus inhaled shakily, his arms falling to his sides as he gathered what little of himself he still could.

“I do not want you to leave, Megatron. In spite of our mistakes, I do not wish for an end to our relationship. What you’ve given me… this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I can’t… I don’t regret it. I love…”

Optimus’s optics widened as the word fell from his intake. He stared across the room at the silver gladiator, who looked just as taken aback as he was.

_I love you… I don’t think I can ever stop loving you, no matter where you go or what you do. I love you enough that all which matters to me is your contentment_.

For the first time in weeks, his spark jumped and pulsed beneath his plating. Oh _love_. Oh that _word_. That sweet, agonizing, torturous, _wonderful_ word he believed he might never hear.

“… I love you.”

The moment he said it, he knew he meant it. Every Primus damned bit of it. He smiled as the tears rolled down his face

“I love you.”

He whispered again, and Megatron shared his smile. Then the silver mech approached, one slow step at a time. Optimus mirrored his steps, meeting him back in the middle of the room after a klik. They both watched as silver claws reached out, asking, hoping. Smooth digits reached back cautiously, placing themselves within the palms of the gladiator’s servos. Silver claws continued forward, tracing the outline of his arms. Smooth digits crept upward, falling onto the other’s chest. One small movement at a time brought them closer to one another. Neither of them stopped until Megatron’s head was burrowed into the crook of the Prime’s neck, and Optimus had pressed himself into the other’s front.

Neither of them could say how long they stood there, clinging to each other in the wake of the fight. Kliks passed, maybe even groons. They didn’t care. Time held no meaning here. Time did not exist.

“Megatron…” The flame-decaled mech spoke after a while, his helm resting against the other’s shoulder. “The things I said earlier about you, our relationship, the newspark… It was… I…”

“You spoke out of anger and fear.”

Optimus sluggishly recycled his optics, shifting back a bit to look up as the silver mech drew away from his shoulder. Crimson optics echoed no residual fury or resentment.

“I understand. And I forgive you.”

His lip plate twitched upward before dropping back into a thin line, and his optics fell to trace the fading Decepticon sigil on his partner’s chest.

“... I never imagined that in my lifetime I would have a sparkling. Especially after the war began. The last time I’ve even _seen_ one was in my youth, and it was my brother.”

Megatron’s field brushed up against him, a softened, empathetic edge offering consolation.

“Neither did I. I have not seen a sparkling since my days as a gladiator. Such moments were few and far between. And with the reputation I held, I was lucky if they did not run away at first glance.”

They could’ve laughed at how humorously tragic their lives were. But they didn’t. Optimus let go of a long sigh, blinking tiredly and losing track of the pattern he’d been tracing.

“My people will need to know of this.” He murmured after half a klik. “My way of leadership will need to undergo drastic changes for the foreseeable future. They deserve to know why.”

“I do not believe any changes you make have to be drastic,” The ex-warlord contended gently, stroking his claws over the other’s back plates to ask for his attention. “I think you need only let your subordinates assist you more. Take on the role of enforcement in your stead.”

Optimus looked up to find unswayable conviction in those crimson optics.

“You traveled through universes to protect them and saved them all from imminent extinction. I think they would be hard-pressed not to respect you, even now. If their loyalty is lost because of the newspark… Well, if your Bumblebee does not pummel some sense into them, then I certainly will.”

He promised, his voice building with the growl in his chest. The Prime huffed lightly.

“Good luck with Grimlock, then. He’ll only listen if it pleases him.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed, and he looked a bit miffed.

“You doubt me? I’ll have you know Grimlock and I have come to an understanding in the past few months.”

The Prime stared hard and cynically at his partner.

“If by understanding you mean ‘mutual avoidance for everyone’s benefit unless contact is absolutely necessary,’ then I’ll agree.”

He answered squarely. The ex-warlord’s field echoed with exasperation. But also fondness, and the flame-decaled mech felt it even as he pulled his servos away to prop them on his hips.

“You wound me, Optimus. If you keep this up, I’ll have no pride left by the time the newspark emerges.”

Amusement pattered in his energon lines as he gave his partner a small smirk.

“Your pride can stand to take a few hits.”

A thought occurred to him that he would do well to remember the mech before him was the sire of his newspark.

Primus _smelt_ him in the fiery core of Earth if their progeny inherited that streak of damnable pride.

He looked down at his abdominal plating, taking heed of its surface. For now it looked normal, marked faintly by scars of previous injuries. Over them lay paint scuffs from the day’s tasks. The plating shifted as he did, melding to his movement, only rising and falling like a diaphragm if he put great effort into a ventilation.

That would soon change. _Everything_ would soon change. How long would it be before the plating began to bow outward? Loosen and rearrange itself to accommodate the stretch of protoform beneath? How long would it be before that little spark and its nebula, no bigger than half his fist, would grow to be visible? Would build their body within him and become a sentient being of their own?

The reality of his condition slammed over him again, and he felt woozy. By Primus, he was carrying _a living being_ inside of him, forging itself from _his own_ metal and energon. _What was he going to do?_

Megatron’s optics followed his partner’s gaze, and as they stared at the same spot the spark scanner had hovered to diagnose the Prime as carrying, the vexation in them diminished.

“… You know,” the silver mech ventured, weaving his field into the other’s. “Your counterpart and his team still hold contact with Earth. I’ve heard they regularly correspond with a female human by the name of ‘June Darby.’ I am aware she is a medic and a carrier. It might be possible to gain knowledge from her personal experiences.”

Optimus’s optics darkened. He remembered the woman faintly. Her son was a more vivid memory from his first days in this universe. A low grumble lodged itself in his throat.

“I know,” Megatron’s low rasp brought him back to the present, his field emanating a soothing affection as one of his servos grasped his own. “I know how you feel about the humans, and I won’t make you go back to their planet. But they’ve proven similar to our peoples before. You understand that as well as I.”

He did. He could recall telling Ironhide the same mere hours before their first battle on the other universe’s Earth.

_They’re a primitive and violent race._

_Were we so different?_

Optimus shook himself of the memory before it could develop into a flashback and tightened his grip on his partner’s claws.

“The human female might hold valuable information that can prove useful to you during and after gestation. We need only hail them by the comms on the Nemesis.”

Megatron urged mildly. Optimus did not answer, unwilling to tear his optics from his abdomen. Humans so _easily_ set him off, causing a great deal of strain and tension. Both of which were harmful to the small being inside him that knew nothing of their malicious ways. His free servo drifted up and settled on the scuffed plating, pressing against the scars that hid the little star.

The newspark would _never_ know the violence of humans, if _he_ had anything to say about it. For now, he needed to start by avoiding their trigger when and where he could. There’d been enough stress put on himself and the newspark for one night.

“… I’ll consider it,” the Prime relented after a moment. “But don’t expect an answer for the next week. I was ordered to take off from my duties until then.”

The ex-warlord couldn’t help a smile, nodding in understanding as he watched his partner’s smooth digits drift over the surface of his abdominal plating. Cautiously, he reached his free servo towards it, eliciting the startled focus of blue optics as they jerked up towards him. Megatron paused.

“… May I?”

He glanced downward, and the Prime followed his gaze. Their optics met again after a few nanoseconds, and the startlement in those blue optics faded. He nodded once. Megatron cautiously stretched his claws the rest of the way, hesitating for a short moment before resting them overtop of the other’s servo. The Prime held himself still, unwilling to shy away from his partner’s presence when it felt so warm and loving.

Exhaling, Optimus slid his servo out from underneath the other’s claws, allowing them to rest solely over the plating. Their contact was nearly electrifying, and he breathed in shakily as he covered the clawed servo with his own. Megatron felt his spark shudder and then leap in its casing. Soon, if he put his servo there, he would be able to feel the nebula within pulse. It would forge and grow in strength to one day emerge into Cybertron’s new age. Perhaps it would even come to outshine them both, this first spark to be forged after millennia of war.

The heir of the knight and the gladiator.

“We’ll overcome the challenges to come, Optimus.” He finally avowed, leaning down to press their forehelms together. “If we can come together and bring peace to the remaining Cybertronians of our universes, we can bring forth our newspark… By our codes of honor, we will act.”

His love surrounded him like welcoming arms. Optimus welcomed it, shuttering his optics as he swore to the gods of both universes that it would be so.

“… Honor to the end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *looks over the entirety of this work*  
> Me: How... HOW DID THIS GET SO FAR OUT OF HAND?!

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up bitches shit went nuts.


End file.
